


How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful

by Lothiriel84



Series: How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful [3]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Canon, Established Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, MJN Air Is A Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 06:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10484400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: And every skyline was like a kiss upon the lips.





	

It was a drizzly Sunday afternoon, and they were lying on Martin’s lumpy bed, listening to the sound of the rain as it hit the roof tiles. It was the second time Diego had travelled all the way to Fitton that month, all for the sake of spending a few hours together in between MJN Air’s scheduled flights.

Diego had insisted that he let him come along for his man-with-a-van job that morning. As it turned out, the sight of his boyfriend of three months shifting furniture did things to Martin; they’d barely made it upstairs to the attic, so pressing was his concern to make his appreciation known.

(Claire was never going to let him live it down, he knew that well enough. Though, to be fair, he’d all but walked in on her and her girlfriend getting a little carried away on the washing machine cupboard once, so that hardly left her much room for teasing.)

All in all he was quite pleased that Diego had seemed to hit it off with the students right from the start, and that he wasn’t at all daunted by Martin’s less than ideal living arrangements. He was running through a list of things he could go without in order to save enough money for a trip to Spain next month, when Diego propped himself up on his elbow and spoke.

“Marry me,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I will move to Fitton. I like it here.”

Martin froze, as if caught in a crosswind with an engine on fire. Only, there wasn’t Douglas to talk him through the correct procedure this time around.

 

“Martin, calm down,” his friend instructed him, his voice firm but kind. “I’m sure things are not as bad as you’re making them out.”

“I can’t,” he all but sobbed, hating himself for showing his vulnerability in front of his First Officer. “It would kill her, Douglas. She’s still my Mum, I could never do that to her.”

“I seriously doubt anything of the sort would actually happen. She might not be entirely happy about it, but – dying? Aren’t you being a tad overdramatic?”

Martin shook his head, clutched at the mug of overly sugared tea Arthur had thrust into his hands. “Caitlyn, she’s – divorcing her husband, and she’s just moved in with her new girlfriend. Mum nearly had a heart attack when she heard about it – well, the doctor said it looked more like a spot of angina, but still – and Simon says it’s all Caitlyn’s fault.”

He’d never been so proud of his little sister as he did when she’d looked up from her glass of wine and announced that she was, in fact, bisexual. Only a couple of hours later they were rushing to the hospital, and then Simon couldn’t seem to keep his stupid mouth shut.

“Well, we’re driving to Stansted next Sunday,” Carolyn enunciated, quite deliberately. “Perhaps we ought to call in on the way, and wish your mother well.”

“Brilliant!” Arthur chirped, as enthusiastic as ever, and Martin took the opportunity to pour the rest of his sugary, lukewarm tea down the kitchenette sink.

 

“Arthur, you are, in one word, brilliant,” he declared with conviction, as they departed with his mother’s blessing as well as a hand knitted sweater ‘for your young man, Martin, because surely he’s not used to our British climate, and – Arthur, could you be a dear and pass me the sugar?’

“I told you, Skip,” the steward explained cheerfully. “Mum sent me to a course on understanding people in Ipswich, and – yellow car!”

“Yes, dear, we know,” Carolyn conceded, overtaking a BMW as if she was running the last lap of the Silverstone grand prix.

“I don’t know about you, Carolyn, but I’d rather get to Stansted in one piece,” Douglas pointed out suavely, safe in the knowledge that she actually had to pay attention to the road rather than attempt to strangle him.

 _Mum would like to meet you_ , Martin typed into his phone.

An incoming message buzzed a few moments later. _I’d love to._

_I’m sorry I was an idiot. Marry me?_

_Only if you can make it to one hundred men went to mow a meadow._

_With your help, I’m sure I will. Though we might run out of suitable animals at some point._

_Next time you fly to Alicante, I’ll take you to the zoo._

_And here I was, thinking you’d rather take me to bed._

_Always._

“Martin, could you at least try and look a little less soppy? It’s revolting.”

He chuckled, and pocketed his phone. “You say that, but you’re still coming to the wedding.”

“Of course we are,” Douglas chimed in, “Someone needs to make sure you don’t trip over yourself and end up with a sprained ankle.”

“Spoilsport – oh, look! Yellow car!”


End file.
